


Missing You

by BillieLiar



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Romance, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-02 03:04:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11500446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BillieLiar/pseuds/BillieLiar
Summary: After realizing the "Buffy" dancing in Rome isn't who he was expecting, Spike realizes he has to see her. With the help of a few well placed threats, he finds himself in Scotland and realizes that he's been missed.Post- The Girl in QuestionDeviates from cannon immediately. I haven't read season 8 in ages so if I've gotten any small details wrong just chalk it up to being an AU. There is some self harm depiction. Specifically cutting. I'm not sure how long this story will be, but it's based on current events in my life. I'm having some Buffy-therapy time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter is REAL short. I'll get into it more if I get decent feedback. Just wanted to establish a beginning.

Spike growled, pressing his hand more firmly into the throat of the considerably younger man in front of him. “You better fucking talk quickly. Where is she, and why does that berk I call a Grandsire think she's here?”  
Andrew was beyond blanched, but he managed to pale a shade lighter at the look on Spike’s face. He had only done what he was supposed to do, and had hoped neither of the vampires he'd encountered earlier would have the nerve to approach the Buffy body double currently out dancing with the Immortal. “Decoy. Angel doesn't know. No one knows. She's in Scotland. There's a sort of headquarters up there, she lays pretty low since-- since Sunnydale.” The words wheezed through barely open windpipes, but it was enough.  
Spike released Andrew, and the boy immediately started coughing and spluttering.  
“You're taking me there.”  
Andrew didn't argue, just started packing. An expression Spike had trouble identifying flickered over the young man’s face. Was that relief?   
Spike shook his head and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it absently as he waited for his new tour guide to throw some clothes into a bag. The blonde on the dance floor hadn't fooled him for a second. Even through the throng of people around her, Spike would have been able to scent Buffy. After realizing Angel hadn't noticed--the prat must have chosen to go blind in that moment or something-- he'd taken the first opportunity to slip away from the older vamp undetected.  
This was taking too long.  
“Are you ready yet or what.”  
“Yeah, yeah one second,” Andrew said, tapping keys on his phone, “gotta make sure we have a ride.”  
Spike realized he was pacing. When had that happened? Fuck. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, willing himself not to cry in front of the whelp. He'd been doing fine, he'd been so ready to never see her again, never inflict himself on her again… but the disappointment he'd felt when he realized she wasn't there… he had to find her. God, why had he waited so long? The burning in his chest was becoming overwhelming. He slammed his fist down on the table and roared.  
“NOW.”  
With a startled peep, Andrew led him outside to the waiting car.  
Just a few more hours.


	2. Chapter 2

After what felt like days, the Land Rover they’d been picked up from the airport in pulled up in front of the castle. The shuddering halt of the car woke Spike by smacking his head into the nearly-black tinted window he'd slumped against after finally succumbing to the exhaustion that crept through him after the plane had landed. He squinted out at the stone monstrosity in front of him. This was definitely not where he'd been picturing Buffy for the past handful of months. The late morning sun filtered through the heavily overcast sky. It was dark enough out he might not just burst into flame if he stepped out without protection, but he wasn't quite ready to take that risk.   
“She's in there?” He croaked, his strained voice evidence of his anxious silence through the past six hours.  
“As far as I know, yeah.” Andrew shifted nervously, “Spike, she hasn't really been--”   
Whatever he was about to say was lost as, with an undignified grunt, Spike pulled his duster up over his head and bolted from the car to the door they'd pulled up nearest.  
Safely in the shade he patted his only slightly smoldering hands, extinguishing the embers before they even began smoking. A hand automatically rose to check his hair and-- “Bollocks.” The normally carefully gelled locks had sprung loose during hours of mindlessly running his hands through them. They curled freely, probably making him look like a dick. He sighed. Oh well, it didn't matter. He was here to see her, and she'd seen him in much worse states than this. He glanced around, wondering where that Andrew git had gotten off to. He needed someone to invite him in, and he didn't hear much activity inside. Should he knock? Just as he decided to try knocking the door opened abruptly.  
“Oh! Sorry I didn't-- Spike?!”  
A genuine grin split his face, and he hung his head bashfully stuffing his hands into his pockets. “‘Lo, Red.”  
The witch just stood there, mouth open, staring.  
“S-S-Spike?”  
“Uh,” he kicked a clump of dirt, “yeah. About that, I'm… uh… fine.”  
There was silence. She hadn't moved. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. A small sound made his eyes automatically dart up to her face. She stood, arms hanging limply at her sides, still staring at him unblinkingly, but now tears were streaming down her round cheeks.  
He stuttered, not knowing what to do. He hadn't even considered that he'd be seeing the others, let alone having to console them. “Red, oh… bollocks… Red, don't--”  
And then her fist hit him. Square in the face. He grabbed his nose and cried out, hunching over to keep the blood from getting all over himself.  
“You. Absolute. Asshole.”  
“Fuck, Red, I came as soon as I could! I'm sorry.”  
“It's been months, Spike. Were you just ‘fine’ this whole time?”  
“No, I swear, I wasn't able to come for a long time, all non-corporeal wasn't I? It's complicated but there’re reasons. Good reasons. On top of which I didn't want you lot knowing I hadn't died all noble-like. I wanted to, Red. I didn't mean to come back, I just… I didn't have a choice… and then time had gone by and I didn't think you'd want… didn't think she’d want to…”  
Shit. He was crying. And so was Willow. She hit him again, half-heartedly on the shoulder this time, before grabbing him by the shoulders and tugging him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck. He spluttered helplessly onto her shoulder.  
“Well,” she said after a long minute, “you'd better get in here before the sun gets you.”  
He stepped in to the large, not-so-modern kitchen, and glanced around.  
“Not that I'm not happy to see you, Red,” the witch scoffed lightly, but didn't comment, “but I need to see Buf-- the Slayer before I lose m’ nerve and run off.”  
Willow’s face fell. “Spike,” she crossed her arms over her chest and sighed, “you should maybe sit down.” She nodded towards a small table with a few chairs around it.   
The pit of his stomach dropped out and for a second he thought he might faint. “Andrew said--said she was here. What's wrong? Will she not want to see me? I figured she'd be pissed as hell, but thought I might be able to--”  
“Spike. Sit down.”  
He did. Plopped into the nearest chair, naked fear plain on his face.  
“Spike, she's not… great. She's here, she's alive. But… she doesn't talk much. We do our best, make sure she has food and doesn't… doesn't…” she squeezed her eyes closed and took a deep breath, “Spike, she's tried to kill herself a few times now. She's not all there most of the time and sometimes she just gets so upset. We’ll hear her screaming and she'll be--” her eyes cracked open, she took in his slack, vacant expression, and decided to not go into detail. “She's not okay, Spike.”  
“Where is she?”  
“I don't know if you should-- I don't know how she'll react.”  
“I don't give a flying fuck. I’ll figure it out. Where is she?” His eyes had turned dark. Images of her finding him in that basement. She'd saved him from this. He could save her. He knew he could. Well, no. Save didn't seem like the right word. Buffy Summers had never needed saving. But he could help her.  
“Spike--”  
“You need to tell me right now, Red, or I'll be tearing this place apart until I find her.” He stood, squaring his shoulders, black eyes boring into the small redhead’s green ones. She bristled for a moment, ready to stick up for herself, but faltered.  
“Yeah. She's downstairs.” She pointed towards a doorway opening onto a set of stairs. “Fourth door on the right.”  
He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and trudged towards the stairwell, trying not to look like too much of a ponce by giving into the urge to run. It lasted until he was around the corner, he launched himself down the stairs and into the hallway below, past doors and counting under his breath to himself as he went.  
One.  
Two.  
Three…  
He stopped, panting.  
Four.  
Should he knock? Christ, he was asking himself that a lot today. It did bugger all good last time… but… he breathed unnecessarily, raised his hand, and knocked softly.  
Tap, tap, tap.  
God, he could smell her. His Buffy.  
There were no sounds of movement inside. He stilled, listening intently. There was her heartbeat. It was slightly faster than he remembered, but that didn't necessarily mean anything, and it was the only one there, so she was alone. He tried one more time, with a little more force.  
Tap, tap, tap.  
Nothing.  
Images related to what Willow had said a moment ago flashed through his mind and he had to choke back a yell. Her heartbeat was there. She's okay. Just…  
He pushed the door open slowly.  
And there she was.


	3. Chapter 3

Spike hadn't been expecting much of anything out of his reunion with Buffy. Hell, he hadn't had time to think, let alone gather up expectations to hold dear. He had imaginings of what Buffy was doing that he'd cobbled together since he materialized in Angel’s office. He'd thought of her often, of course, what else would he do? Spike obsessed about Buffy. That's what he did. It was as much a part of him as his demon at this point. In his mind she'd been happy. Living with her friends and Sister Slayers, kicking ass and saving the world like always. Hearing she was partying her way through Rome had sounded about right.

Spike hadn't expected much of anything, and if he had… it wouldn't have been what he saw as he opened the door to Buffy’s rooms. Which was nothing. There was nothing in her room. The stone walls and floor were bare. The room was cold and hollow, and the sound of his boot hitting the floor as he stepped in echoed softly. On a table by the door sat a tray with what must have been intended to be her breakfast, now cold and congealing.

And then there was Buffy. She lay on a metal framed bed covered in black sheets and a black wool camping blanket, which she was on top of. She was pale, and her body was smaller than it should have been. Ribs jutting out against the white plain tank top she wore, evidence of many cold, untouched meals beside the one that sat on the table next to him. She was positioned in a loose imitation of the fetal position, her hands twitching in her sleep. He listened for her heartbeat again, and found it had sped up since he had entered the room. She whimpered pitifully.

“Don't. I… I can't… stop. Stop. No!” With the last she shot upright, her legs folded beneath her and her hands supporting her weight on the bed in front of her. Spike tensed, having not intended for this to be what their reintroduction started with. Her eyes searched the wall across from her before drifting over to where he stood. Her face registered no shock, no anger or joy, just recognition.

“Oh. You.”

She sat the rest of the way up, dangling her too-pale-for-a-California-girl legs over the edge of the bed, and pushing her hair out of her face and rubbing the heels of her hands against her eyes. She reached forward and opened the drawer of the bare bedside table next to her, pulled out a brush, and mechanically scraped it through her hair a handful of times. It was the movement towards the drawer that brought the lines across and down her forearms to Spike’s attention. There were… too many. Scars indicating deep, ragged, and painful cuts that even the Slayer’s healing couldn’t have kept up with. Cuts that would have unleashed torrents of blood. He felt his knees shake, but forced himself to remain calm.

“You're being awfully quiet today.” She said, not quite looking at him, “Aren't you going to tell me I don't love you or that I should have died or whatever?” She sighed and put her hands over her face.

“No, luv. Wasn't gonna say that at all.”

That got her attention. She looked up, meeting his gaze with hollow eyes, the dark circles beneath them so deep they were closer to being bruises.

”So, I'm officially nuts. You don't usually answer.”  
He found himself moving unstoppably forward, reaching her in two long strides and letting out a strangled half-sob as he reached out for her.

”No, kitten. No, I'm here. I'm really here I swear--” His hand touched her bare shoulder and she screamed.

Eyes going wild she backed up, scrambling madly until she was pressed against the wall.

“No. No. I'm still asleep. No. Fuck you. Stop. Go away. I can't stand it don't you dare--”

”Buffy??!” The door burst open and Willow came running in. Buffy pointed a shaking finger at Spike.

“It touched me, Wills. I'm seeing him and I felt him, I FELT him!” She continued babbling as Willow crawled onto the bed with her, pulling her friend against her chest and shushing her.

Spike took a step back and let his hands fall to his sides, unsure of how to proceed.

”I know this is gonna be difficult but he is really here. I called Angel--” Spike tensed at that, he hadn't wanted the great prat to know about any of this, seeing his tension Willow made an aside to him, “I just told him Andrew told us he'd seen you. I didn't say you were here. Anyway, apparently he's real and alive and it's not weird or anything I promise.”

Buffy got more agitated, babbling gibberish dotted with Spike’s name, and more no’s than he could keep up with. Just as he thought she was calming down, she started hitting herself. Full force slaps in the face.

“Wake up! Please!! Please wake up! I can't take this I can't take this please stop pleasestopplease.”

Crying, Willow did her best to hold down Buffy’s arms, but even in her current near-emaciated state Buffy wasn't going to be overpowered by any normal person alone.

“Please, Buffy, stop I don't want to use magic--”

Spike stepped forward, pushed the redhead out of the way and grabbed Buffy’s face, forcing her to look into his eyes. After a second of struggle she acquiesced, and stared at him. The combination of fear and tears on her face could have broken him. Once he had her gaze he made a point of breathing in deeply through his nose, and out through his mouth. She imitated him through five sets of deep breaths and finally relaxed, leaning into one of his cold hands.

“‘M here, luv. Sorry I didn't come sooner. Took me a bit to get over m’self, I suppose.”

She laughed bitterly ““It’s not weird or anything”... And, I don't believe you.”

“I swear I'm real I didn't believe it for a bit either but--”

She laughed again, softly, this time the smile stretching across a face that had forgotten exactly how that expression worked.

“I mean you getting over yourself. I don't see that happening.”

The guffaw that quip provoked caught him off guard, the shock of that started a chain reaction of emotion, and he started crying. Deep chest-wrenching sobs wracked his body and he crumpled forward into her, his hands falling to her shoulders and pulling her to his chest. Her fingers clawed at his back, scrabbling to pull him closer as she sobbed along with him. He delighted in the sting her fingers left through the material of his shirt. She was here. She was alive. He was alive. For the first time since they had held hands underground as the world caved in, he believed that he was real. Wrapped around each other they cried until exhaustion overtook them and they collapsed onto the bed, intertwined and lying at an uncomfortable-looking angle, but calm at last.

Willow smiled softly, tears from the ordeal still drying on her face, and hoped things would continue to improve when Buffy woke. Thank the Gods for small victories, she supposed. At least someone else had crawled out of that pit alive. She carefully exited the room, closing the door silently, and—considering the potential of a bunch of gossip-hungry baby slayers returning—latched the door from the inside with a flick of her wrist and a muttered word.


	4. Chapter 4

As Spike drifted back into consciousness he noticed two things. Firstly, he was bloody uncomfortable. He'd managed to fall asleep twisted into a very awkward knot with all of his weight on one arm under his body, which was asleep to the point of numbness. Secondly, someone was watching him. His brow furrowed and he tried to piece together the past 10-odd hours’ activities with a sleep-addled mind. He breathed in deeply and opened his eyes, all senses pointing toward the culprit of that niggling feeling of being watched.

Buffy.

Before he could stop himself an absolutely goofy grin plastered itself on his face. It only lasted a moment, faltering as he took in her confused, hurt expression. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words were so uncharacteristically timid and quiet it took him a second to process what she'd said.

“You’re dead.”

“‘Ve been dead for a century and a half, luv, that's old news at this point.” He automatically quipped back, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a smirk.

She slapped him on the shoulder lightly (lightly for her, it smarted like a bitch), tears spilling down her cheeks. 

“You know what I mean.”

“Oy, none of that.” He murmured, reaching up to wipe the trickle of moisture away with a thumb. “I can explain if you want. ‘Sall a bit vague and I'm not overly clear on the details but--”

“No.” It was a whisper again. Her eyes glazed over and shifted so they looked through him as something inside her hooked onto another topic of thought. “A lot of people didn't come out of that hole. I didn't do… I tried but I didn't… I did a bad job at, well… my job.” She sniffled and blinked, forcing herself back to the present moment. “I should've known you were too pigheaded to stay down.” The last was said with half-smile and a quiet hiccup of a giggle.

He considered her. While this hadn't been the Buffy he was expecting, she was still her, just buried under layers and layers of scar tissue and self-doubt. Scar tissue. Without thinking he reached and grabbed her hand from where it lay on the bed between them. With a gentle tug towards himself he twisted it so he could see the inside flesh. He used his gradually awaking arm to push himself up to a half-sitting position propped against the lone pillow so he could hold her arm by the wrist with one hand, and run his fingers over the ridges of keloid tissue.

“Tell me about these, Buffy.” His voice came out colder than he’d meant to. The idea of the slayer--his slayer-- defeated to the point of resorting to this chilled him. She stiffened at his tone, attempting to retract her arm with the goal of hiding the evidence of her wrongdoings, but he tightened his grip on her and relaxed his voice. “If you want, luv. I'm not mad I'm just--”

“Worried. Or you just want to help.” She tugged her arm free, and tucked it against her stomach as she rolled away from him and onto her back. “Everyone just wants to worry and help.” The bitterness in her voice hurt. Hurt enough to make just a small bubble of anger and frustration in his chest pop.

“Well I'm not bloody well everyone now am I?” He sat up, grabbing her by her shoulders and hauling her into a seated position on the bed. Annoyed that she was avoiding looking him in the face, he put a finger gently under her chin and guided it so he could see her eyes. “Look at me, pet.” She petulantly snapped her head free, looking away, only to be grabbed with a hand on each side of her face and forced. “For Christ’s sake, woman! Look at me in my face and listen. I'm not bleeding crying over you, I'm not blubbering and telling you to buck up, that you're better than this. I'm bloody well terrified, aren't I? That my girl, my slayer, my goddamned light was tryin’ to leave because she's gotten it into her stubborn fucking head that she failed somehow. I'm sitting here thinking ‘God this is my fault innit? Shoulda made that self righteous wanker let me call you the second I was awake.’ And then yellin’ at myself ‘cause I know better than to think you'd do all this,” he gestured at her and the room around them, “because of some lovesick tosser you feel guilty died.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her with a finger over her lips and took a breath. His hand moved to the back of her head and tangled into her hair. “So tell me. Just tell me, it'll make me stop hatin’ myself. It won't be you bitching and moaning, it won't be you making me quit worrying, I'm not sitting here filing away where to hide all the damned sharp objects ‘cause I can tell you haven't done anything in a stretch an’ call me bloody cocky but I'm fairly certain I could wrestle you down from a ledge pretty damned easily. An’ it’s not you being weak or whatever you've convinced yourself talking about your sodding feelings is. It’ll be you doin’ me a favor and telling me what's wrong so I bloody well feel better.”

She just stared at him, her mouth slightly open, and tears spilling down her face. “I just… I just was done, Spike. It felt like I was done. Even more than after the whole Glory thing. Everyone had something to do or somewhere to be or someone to be with and I was just me. Like always. But now with no Sunnydale or friends to protect.” She said the last in a faux-chipper voice, imitating a commercial announcer, and then slouched, letting her head relax back into his hand at the base of her skull which was still absently playing with her hair. “And I did miss you, that was some of it. Not all of it but… you did make several appearances in my nightmares. That's what I thought it was when you came in… just another waking nightmare where you tell me I don't love you and burst into flames. But every time I started missing you for real I'd get all guilt-Buffy ‘cause I'd tell myself I just wanted you around to make me feel alive again. Like you did after I died last time. Or that…” she reached for his hand which was resting on her knee at this point, “or that you were right and I didn't love you.” She stopped and looked away again. Or rather she tried to until his hand fisted in her hair and forced her back to him.

“Say it.” His voice was heated and desperate.

“What?”

“I can fix that bit. Say it again.” He laced the fingers of the hand that wasn't in her hair into hers.

“That I…” she trailed off, a question in her voice that she couldn't bear to finish.

“If you mean it and if you can, tell me.” He tried to smile reassuringly.

There was a moment where light filled her eyes and hope spread through her features. She softened and opened her mouth… but no. She tensed and closed herself off before tugging her hand free and detaching from him. She curled into herself and rolled backwards and then onto her side facing away from him. He nodded at nothing in particular and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He thought for a moment before standing, and the headed towards the door, the slap of his boots on stone echoing through the bare room. The moment his hand landed on the doorknob she was up, throwing herself across the bed with unsure scrabbling movements. 

A jumbled cry of “No please don't leave don't leave please I need you please I love you I'm sorry I don't want it to be a lie I don't want you to hurt I don't want to use you again I hurt you so much last time I'm so sorry I'm so sorry don't leave don't leave don't leave don't leave--”

He turned and lunged for her, grabbing her before she could fall off the bed in her desperate attempt to reach him, and shut off her worries by smashing his lips to hers. The kiss was fierce, bordering on painful as he tried to reassure her, tried to pour all the feelings he was experiencing into her so maybe she could find something, anything good and solid to hang on to.

“Not going anywhere, love. Not going anywhere.” He smoothed her hair away from her face soothingly, his heart breaking at the sheer vulnerability on her face. “Just gonna find a proper blanket and then I'll come back. You haven't been keeping warm it's no wonder you aren't sleeping.”

He rested his forehead against hers and breathed calmly, encouraging her to imitate him like she had a few hours ago. He continued like that until her heart rate had slowed to a normal, steady thrum. Really he just needed to step back. Get out of this room drenched in the scent of her and calm down… but the blanket wasn't a bad idea. He tried moving backwards but her heart rate skyrocketed, and her hands thrashed out to grab him by the wrists.

“Don't leave.”

“Swear ‘m not going farther than the hall.” He considered her terror stricken face and had an idea. “Here,” he pulled back and stripped off his duster, and laid it on the bed. Next he sat down and proceeded to unlace and toe off his Docs. “Wouldn't go anywhere without these, would I?” He smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

She looked up at him, doe-eyed and lost. She shook her head and sat down on her heels so she was kneeling on the bed next to him.

“You could come out with me?”

She stared at the door and started breathing quickly again before shaking her head and forcing herself back to the calm breathing pattern he'd started.

“Well I'm going out there. So you sit right here,” he patted the bed next to him, “and wait for Ol’ Spike okay?”

He waited a moment, but when she didn't move he shrugged to himself and stood, shoving his hands into his jean pockets to keep from reaching back out to her. 

“Let me take care of you, okay?”

She hesitated, and then nodded solemnly. He quickly opened the door and went out it without looking back, sure that one more glimpse of that terrified lonely expression she wore would be the end of him and he'd never so much as be out of sight of her for the rest of time. In the hall now, he closed the door quietly and turned to lean back against it with a sigh. Where the bloody hell was he gonna get a blanket from?

“Is everything okay?” Came a timid voice from a few feet away. He cracked his eyes open and looked towards the source. Willow stood leaning against the jam of a door a few down.

“Is it just you ‘n’ her here?” He said with mild consternation. “Tha’s not what I'd been expecting.”

“No everyone's off on some end-of-the-world-maybe thing, and I stayed behind so she wouldn't be alone.”

He chuckled at her flippant tone. The redhead had seen more so-called apocalypses than any one mortal had a right to.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Or as fine as you'd expect, at least. She needs some stuff I was gonna-- er-- look for.” Yes, look for, not force his way into the nearest unoccupied room and take so he could rush back into Buffy as quickly as possible.

Willow’s eyes lit up like the Fourth of July in the capital. “She's letting you get her stuff?! What does she need I'll show you where it is!”

“Er, maybe some food for both of us, and a nice heavy blanket… oh! And maybe a few more pillows.” The last was accompanied with a hand drifting to the crick in his neck from earlier.

“She was next to catatonic when I took her breakfast in this morning, I'm not surprised she hasn't eaten… as for everything else, if you go down to the end of the hall on the left there's a store room with all sorts of homey stuff we didn't need so we shoved it in there. Most of the upstairs rooms have been converted into training spaces so we didn't need all kinds of things. And I can go get some food!” She looked down at her shoes, unsure if this was something she shouldn't say. “When we first got here and Buffy was still being sorta active and at least half trying to help run things she kept buying blood every time it was her turn to make a food run, so we have kind of a lot in the freezer.”

He smiled a lopsided, toothy smile, choosing not to be sad that his girl had missed him so much. It felt good. To know for sure that he mattered. It had been hard to tell in the hectic turmoil of their last year together, whether or not he'd been wanted. But now…

“Yeah, Red, if you wouldn't mind just setting it out here that would be grand, thank you. And I'll get whatever looks comfiest out of the store room. Our girl’s awfully cold in there.”

Willow nodded, smiling softly.

“Thank you for coming, Spike. She… we need you around, I think.”

“Shoulda bloody come sooner.”

Her smile turned sad. “I don't know how much that would have helped, honestly. She was… she was gone. She's been coming back bit by bit, I think all the rest has been helping… but no, don't beat yourself up. She wouldn't let any of us in. I think you just got to her thanks to… uh, your… special circumstances.”

He nodded and then stepped past her and wandered down the hall until he found the right door. Inside were piles of rolled-up rugs, folded bedding on top and inside of ancient dressers and armoires, stacks of headboards, paintings leaned one against another, and miscellaneous antique wooden furniture. On one set of shelves he even found a random assortment of books. The smile that this unexpected hoard of decorating treasure encouraged could have cracked his face. He hastily grabbed things by the armful, running down the hall to deposit them in front of Buffy’s door before coming back for more. By the time he’d piled everything there Willow was carefully coming down the stairs with a large tray in hand. A huge dopey grin on his face, he deftly divested her of the tray, planted a big wet kiss on her forehead (accompanied by loud protests from the girl herself), and ran back to he and Buffy’s room with a backwards shout of “I found what I needed” as he carefully skittered his way over the massive roadblock of stuff he'd acquired.

He burst through the door, tray clattering dangerously, forgetting to be careful and quiet for fear of startling the shell-shocked Buffy. She lept to her feet from where she'd been waiting on the bed, panicking for only a moment before visibly relaxing and returning his wide smile when he offered it. 

“Brought food! Brought prezzies!” He held the tray slightly higher as evidence of the first, and nodded out into the hallway for the second. “But you,” he leered at her, “have to wait for both.”

This part she remembered. His unstoppable giddiness when he'd found something he wanted to give her was all too familiar, and she knew that she was supposed to be excited and impatient for any presents offered to her. She coaxed her inner valley girl out of hiding and managed a small grin before jokingly pouting, “I have to wait??”

“Mhmm, no arguing.”

He set the tray covered in sandwiches, a mug of cocoa, and two mugs of blood down on the table by the now disgustingly congealed breakfast, and ushered her to one side. He contemplated something for a moment before holding up a finger and saying “Wait there! Don't peek!” And darting out into the hall.

He returned a moment later with a chair in tow and set it down in the farthest corner of the room. He gestured for her to sit and ordered her to keep her eyes closed. She smiled at his excitement and complied. She felt the air in front of her face move as he waved a hand to check that she wasn't cheating, and resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him in response. Like she'd cheat, as if. Okay, so she really wanted to, but obviously she wouldn't. She relaxed back into the chair and reveled in the sounds of her lost friend rummaging around in her room.

Several minutes of clattering, cursing, and the sound of furniture being hastily scraped across the floor later, Buffy felt Spike crouch in front of her and grab her hands tenderly. 

“It isn't much but I figure it's better than living in a darkened cave. You can look… if you want, that is.” His embarrassment was audible, and if it weren't for the fact that she was dying to see what he'd gotten up to she would have drawn out his anxieties until he'd beg her to look and stop torturing him.

She opened her eyes and involuntarily gasped. Tears threatened.

“Oh, Spike…”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't look at me. I've never written smut before IM SORRY.

Christ, she was crying. Shit. That was definitely not what he had been going for. She was maybe also trying to say something, but it was completely unintelligible through the crying that she was still doing. With gusto.

“Uh…” he nervously ran a hand through his hair, and restrained himself from touching her since he'd obviously done something wrong. “I just thought…” 

“I-it’s perfect. It's perfect.” Buffy took a breath and steadied herself, quickly wiping her eyes and straightening up.

He had covered just about every surface he could with softness. Cloths covered the dresser top and night stands, and the bed was now draped in a heavy burgundy quilt and piled with roughly ten thousand pillows of varying sizes. The stark metal headboard was haphazardly covered with an off white fabric which was probably intended to be a table cloth. The floors had also been covered with thick Persian rugs that were probably older than Spike himself, their bulky woven forms overlapping at odd angles to cover maximum floor space created the desired effect of making the room considerably less echoey and hollow feeling. The stark bulb that illuminated the room had been switched off, and light was instead coming from a dozen candles in holders that he'd scattered around the room. That had to be some kind of fire hazard, but the light from them was so much softer and easier on her eyes. Plus they were helping to cover the I-haven't-left-this-room-in-a-week smell. Spike gestured for her to stand so he could kick an errant corner of a rug under the chair she’d been sitting in. The effect was utterly familiar and relaxing. Gone was the prison cell she’d spent months inhabiting in a haze. This was a space she could be at home in.

“‘S not right, you living in a bare room. Should be all girly and frilly like your… like it was at…”

“At home.” Her shoulders slumped, more out of exhaustion than sorrow at the reminder of their current definite not-at-home-ness. She sighed, and the corner of her mouth quirked up into an almost-grin. God did he want to make her smile, his chest ached with it. “All this ancient stuff makes it look more like your crypt.”

He grinned and feigned offense, “Oi, I'm working with what I got here. Don't knock the decorating skills!” He stood and smoothed out his shirt, avoiding her eyes. “‘Sides you liked the crypt.”

She nodded. “I felt safe there.”

Sod it all he was going to cry now. No. No he wouldn't do it. At least not while she was in the room. He cast around for the next thing he needed to do. His thoughts settled on the rapidly cooling meal Willow had gotten for them. He reached out a hand and pulled her to her feet. 

“You need to eat, an’ I need to eat. Then you need a bath,” he held up a hand as she started to protest, a hot blush rising to her cheeks that he was absolutely not going to be distracted by, “Slayer, y’re not taking care of yourself don't argue with me you aren't fooling anyone. Eat the blasted food and take a blasted shower, and then we’ll get some more kip you look like y’re about done in.”

Her jaw set stubbornly and she glared at him. “I've been sleeping too much. And I'm not hungry. You're…” she grimaced, “probably right about a shower, though.”

He stalked forward and slid a hand under her shirt, taking a moment to appreciate the flush and increased heart rate that this incited. He looked her square in the eyes and pointedly ran his fingers up the jutting xylophone of her ribcage. She deflated a little at that.

“I'm right about all of it. Eat. Shower. Kip. I didn't come all the way out here for you to keep bloody punishing yourself.”

There was a second (or five) where he let himself keep stroking her side, but he managed to shake himself out of it, and guided her over to the bed where he shoved half a sandwich and a mug of lukewarm cocoa into her hands. Next he gulped down the two mugs of pig swill, and deposited himself in a chair across from her and watched her until she'd eaten two sandwiches and finished her drink. He piled everything onto the tray, including the remnants of the morning’s offerings, and nudged the door open with his foot.

“You go clean up, I'll be in here when you're done.” He moved to take the dishes upstairs.

“Spike?”

He stopped.

“Yes, luv?”

“Could you… not. Not go upstairs, could you come with me instead?”

There was a moment where he considered running. Absolutely not. There was absolutely no way in any version of hell that he would--

“I know. I know it’s… it's not exactly great for me either but like… we need to deal with it eventually and I'd rather have you nearby. Besides, if you don't come with me we’ll both just be thinking about why you aren't there with me and then it'll be weird anyway.”

He was still frozen in the doorway, staring down at the pile of dishes in his hands with a terrified expression, as if the spoons and mugs might grow fangs and leap at him at any moment.

“Please don't make me go all ramble-Buffy, Spike. I'll be way more scared without you there than with. It's not like you'd hurt me.”

He set down the tray outside of the door and straightened.

“You got a towel for me, then? ‘Cause I'm not babysitting you in there without at least getting in on the action. Free show and all.”

Buffy actually laughed. Christ he’d move heaven and earth just to make that happen again. She grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, and he spun and tackled her onto the bed. He hiked up her shirt and started tickling her mercilessly, the tension of a moment before evaporating unmourned as she giggled and thrashed. And then she was kissing him and it was heaven. One of her arms looped around his neck, and the giggling stopped as they continued kissing softly, insistently. Spike made at least one valiant effort to stop himself. He was supposed to be getting her out of bed, not pushing her farther into it, but his hands refused to listen to reason, instead choosing to drift up over her chest, thumbs stroking absently at the nipples they found there. The guttural moan she released at that signaled the end of any semblance of self control.

She tugged at his hair and broke the kiss, alleviating any concerns he might have had that she was pushing him away by sliding her free hand under his shirt and scraping her nails over his taut abdomen.

“Think there's enough wiggle room to add one more step to that schedule?”

She grinned a wicked grin and hooked her legs over his hips, grinding up into him, but before she could tug him back down into the kiss he was up and flinging her over his shoulder. He stalked out into the hallway and towards what he had identified earlier as the closest bathroom, ignoring her half hearted struggles and breathlessly giggled mock-protests.

“Bloody stubborn little chit, you're gonna do what I told you to do and you're gonna bloody like it.”

Once they were securely inside the recently remodeled white tile room he deposited her on her feet and divested her of the scraps of overworn sleeping clothes he'd found her in. He grinned lasciviously down at her face, which was twisted up into an overly dramatic pout. He smoothly stripped off his shirt, and unfastened his jeans, maintaining eye contact as best he could throughout the process.

“What’re you pouting for, you got what you asked for. Spoiled little princess, you are.”

“I wanted to keep kissing you. It felt good.”

He reached up to stroke her face. “Not gonna stop just ‘cause we’re changing location, love.”

She smiled softly at that, and reached up on tip-toe to kiss him again. He obliged her, gripping her by the waist and walking them over to the shower stall without breaking the kiss. One of her hands wandered down to stroke his aching prick between them. He only took a hand off of her to close the door and turn on the water. 

No stopping now.

With a practiced motion he lifted her against the wall, guiding her legs around his hips, and slid his hardened cock home. They didn't move, they hardly breathed. They gloried in the connection for a handful of minutes, foreheads pressed together, and exchanging short panting breaths against each other's mouths. The hot water streamed around them, finding gaps between their bodies and filling them in. When he started to rock his hips against her she whimpered, hands scrabbling for purchase on his slick back. Upon finding none, she settled with digging fingernails into his flesh and gripping for dear life as she lost the capacity for conscious thought. 

He was muttering quiet praise against her flesh as he peppered kisses along her jaw and neck. His gentle thrusts into her pulsing core sent shivers up her spine, and the tenderness of his kisses and hands and eyes and words were amazing and perfect… but not quite what she needed. She bent her face to the curve of his neck and sunk her blunt teeth into him, eliciting a cry of pleasure and a quick burst of several harder thrusts that hit the spot deep within her that would make her come apart if given a little more attention. Spike stilled himself with obvious effort, his fingers digging bruises into her hips as he panted and grunted against her neck. He was trying to show her how much he loved her, trying to make her feel valued and present. Trying to stay in control. She nipped and kissed her way up to his ear, which she tugged on with her teeth before murmuring,

“Love you. Love you loving me. But need you to fuck me now. Gentle later. Stop holding back.” She hesitated at the next thing she wanted to say, worried it was too much. But keeping things from him hadn't ever worked in her favor before, better not start with the secrets now. So she choked it out. “Remind me who I belong to.”

His head snapped up from its resting place on her shoulder, his gaze bored into her and he whimpered.

The feeling that he was in a dream closed down around him. It was too much. Too much.

“I'm yours, pet. ‘S never been the other way around.”

“Yeah, well,” she wiggled her hips and grinned at the strangled moan that elicited from her vampire, “that's dumb and you should fix it.”

Spike pressed her harder against the tile, he was taking great unnecessary heaving breaths, and his expression was very near to panic.

“Buffy, I… you don't have to… I'm so glad to just be here you don't have to… not for my sake. Please don't say things like that if you don't…”

“Shhh shh shh…” 

When her fingers touched his forehead he realized he'd slipped into game face, and moved to shake it off, but was unsuccessful. His girl. She was his girl, she said she wanted to be his. The urge to bite, claim, mark was strong, but he shouldn't… wasn’t supposed to… He began to pull back, instinctively trying to protect her from him. His demon was still at the forefront and he wasn't sure what she wanted from him, exactly, but she'd never been fond of his true face.

“No, don't hide from me, please.”

Her arms tightened around his neck even as he lifted her off, disconnecting where they had been joined, and set her down on the floor. She was crying again and he had no clue how to fix it. He looked down at her, dangling from his neck, toes barely touching the slick porcelain of the shower floor. His girl. They were moving too fast. Time to stop the ride and make some quick repairs.

“Give a bloke a second, Slayer.” He lisped through his fangs, still heaving ragged half-panicked breaths. He successfully willed his demon back into the background, regaining control of that at the very least. “Le’go and let me wash you, kitten. Gimme a mo’ to process.”

“I didn't mean to make you stop I don't want to stop I just--”

“Shh, pet, I know. ‘M not running off, I'm right here. Need us to stop for now, okay?”

She reluctantly nodded, releasing his neck and slumping back against the wall. He methodically reached for hygiene supplies and gently scrubbed her down until all traces of caked on oil and grime were replaced with clean scents of vanilla and fruit. When his hands reached the apex of her thighs, he nudged her knees with one of his to encourage her to spread her legs. When she silently complied he nuzzled his face into the join of her neck and shoulder and breathed in before repeating his plea from earlier,

“Let me take care of you?”

She whimpered and nodded against him, and reached up to grip at his biceps. His fingers slid into her core with little resistance. 

“Always were good ‘n’ wet for me, weren't you? Your sweet little quim’s always weeping for poor ol’ Spike, innit?”

He retracted his fingers and found her clit, tracing lazy circles around it. He grinned as she started bucking her hips gently against his ministrations.

“You want me to remind you who you belong to? Think I need a bit of a crash course in that, luv, don’ remember you ever belonging to anybody other than y’rself.”

He made himself stick to the maddeningly slow, soft circles around her hardened nub, enjoying the way she whimpered and tried to grind down against him. When she didn't immediately respond to him he stopped his movements all together, which earned him a groan of protest, and ten fingertip sized bruises on his bicep as she tried to force him to continue. He gripped her clit between his index finger and thumb and pinched hard, pulling the slick bundle of nerves down and towards him. Buffy screamed into his shoulder and writhed against him.

“If you're going to start a subject of conversation one would hope you'd contribute to the blasted dialogue, luv.” He grumbled in what he hoped was a disaffected tone. 

“You, I’m yours, I've been yours, I'm sorry I didn't know before I'm sorry I'm sorry--” She babbled against his shoulder, nipping at him and kissing whatever skin she could between words.

He yanked at her clit again, encouraging another strangled scream of pleasure that nearly broke his resolve.

“Since when, Slayer?”

“Dunno don't know I knew in the bus leaving Sunnydale I don't know since when I don't know I just am I just knew.”

He slid his fingers back to tease her vaginal opening but didn't further interrupt her.

“Didn't want anyone else, decided you’d been it. I even tried with one of… one of the girls, one of th-th-the other slayers but it wasn't right I hated it I just wanted y-y-y-you. Always. Always just want you.”

She was sobbing tearless cries of frustration and attempting to move her hips in such a way that his disobedient fingers would give her something, anything to drive her over the edge, but he steadfastly maintained the maddening slow circles around her hole.

“Want me then do you? Want to be mine forever and always? ‘Cause that's the only option, Buffy. It's always or not at all because if you mean what you're saying I'm never going. You can yell and push and bite and fight me all you want but once I have you I'll never let go. Need you to understand that.”

“Yeah that's kind of the idea, idiot.”

He slammed three fingers inside of her, and her whole body convulsed. Her head cracked back against the tile, shattering one. The faint scent of her blood filled the air and he vamped out again, barely restraining himself from burying his fangs in her pretty little throat. Instead, he wrapped his free hand around it and forced her to look up at him. Her eyes were glorious, pupils dilated so far that they had almost overtaken the irises. There was no hesitation in her expression. She looked him in the eyes as she panted and moaned, a huge smile played over her face at his scrutiny. He slammed his mouth into hers, possessive and painful as his fangs sliced her lower lip. She didn't mind.

His three fingers worked her insides with brutal finesse, and the moment he pressed a thumb to her clit she came apart. He stroked her and murmured encouragements until the shuddering subsided. With rapid, uncareful movements he shut off the water, pulled her out of the shower and across the hall. They left a trail of water across the stone, but neither of them noticed. He tossed her onto the bed with ease, and she giggled and reached for him.

“Last chance to run, pet. Better watch out or the Big Bad’ll get ya.”

“I think it’s a bit late for warnings, Big Bad.”

He shrugged. “Tryin’ to play fair.”

"Since when do either of us play fair?" She hooked a foot behind one of his knees, forcing him to fall on top of her. Once he was within reach she grabbed him by the hair and yanked him into a kiss.


End file.
